Author's Note:
Hey, Team SIMH! This chapter (along with the previous chapter and the next chapter) is a glimpse of the draft that I created (and discarded afterwards) when I first finished writing the ending for Someone's In My Head. The beginning of CHAPTER 29 might be similar to the actual version, but the whole idea is drastically different, so read on!
As you read through the following parts you'll realize the reason why I discarded these chapters -- the impracticality and the impossibility of this alternative ending were so high that it seemed almost comical. So, to entertain you guys, I decided to post them (three BONUS chapters)! Don't judge, just enjoy laughing! xD
#teamSIMH
I'm a girl.
I'm a girl.
I. Am. A. Girl.
I could say that for a hundred times for all its worth, but I still couldn't believe what I was seeing. I'm a boy's mind in a girl's body. A male consciousness trapped within a female body structure. Mankind's dream come true.
Not really, though.
I started touching myself. Don't get it the wrong way, though. I was just trying to determine what I'd gained and what I'd lost.
Okay, fine, I'm being a hypocrite. I admit that I acted out of curiosity. My hands traveled from my face down to my chest...
Now I know what you're thinking: Oh, Jarod, you pervert. But no, honestly, my hands didn't linger. With my heartbeat chugging away like a locomotive, my hands skimmed past those soft...marshmallows―ugh, that came out so wrong―and the next thing I know, they were moving down my slim waist. I don't know what stopped me. Somehow I felt disgusted by the idea of touching Layla's...assets without her permission. Although technically speaking, they were mine for the moment.
My abs were less obvious, but still felt quite refined for female standards. And even though I could feel a significant decrease in my upper body strength, my limbs were still lithe and supple, their reactions swift as a viper's. This girl worked out.
From the corner of my eye, I could see that Royce was gazing at me in awe and wonder like I was some rare specimen that he caught from outer space. I ignored him. Right now, there were more important matters than a curious Dr. Hammond.
The notion that troubled me the most was the disappearance of my beloved little Hampton downstairs. As my hands reached my crotch, all I felt was...nothing. Well, there was the fabled and cherished...skiddlyboop, but besides that it was just...air. I retracted my hands hastily, partly because I was horrified, and partly because I didn't want any randy thoughts to start barging in on my already-disturbed mind.
Suddenly, Phil's voice boomed inside me. "Where am I?" He demanded.
But before I could reply, Lenny was placating Phil. "Take it easy, man. Don't worry, you're safe."
"Guys?" I called out tentatively.
Phil recoiled into self-defence mode, but Lenny stood up carefully. "Hi. Who's there?"
"It's me, Jarod!" I spluttered. "What, did you get hit by a freight train or something? Why don't you remember―"
Then, Royce's words registered inside me. Their consciousness has just been manually triggered.
Manually triggered. That's basically equivalent to pressing the Master Reset button in a computer. Since I'm now stuck in Layla's head, these two Phil and Lenny here are completely different from the ones in my (Jarod's) head. Which means, they remember nothing regarding the conversations and adventures we had in the past two days. Perfect. Viva Interexchange-whatever-it-is, everybody.
I took a deep breath and turned to face both of them. "Okay, I understand this might sound a little crazy and confusing, but you two are currently inside the head of this female host body called Layla, while I'm the temporary...facilitator of it. My name's Jarod, by the way."
Phil stared at me blankly like I'd just spouted Martian, but Lenny was nodding slowly. "So you're saying that both you and this Layla girl exchanged bodies?" Lenny probed. "Like a total body swap?"
"As inexplicable as that might sound, yeah," I confirmed.
Lenny pursed his lips and started pacing back and forth. "It's not inexplicable. We just don't have the answers...yet."
"Wait a sec," Phil yelled. "I don't know what horseshit you're spewing, but are you telling me that we're stuck inside a chick's head?"
I winced. "That's not exactly how I would put it, but yeah, you're right."
"So we're dead, then?"
I was still thinking of a euphemistic way to break the news to Phil, when Lenny gave an exasperated snort. "You don't say?"
I decided it was time to give them a heads-up about our current situation. "Okay, folks, we have a situation here. There is no time to explain it in detail, so I'll just cut the long story short: The guy over there―" I aimed my eyes at Royce. "―is The Duke."
I heard a sharp intake of breath from Lenny. Phil, however, gave me a confused look. "Who the fuck is The Duke?"
Of course. "The Duke is a very, very bad guy. For example, he's the one responsible for you being here and not chillin' out in good ole heaven."
Phil stared at me like I'd just told him that the moon is cuboidal.
"Lenny? Do me a favor, will ya?" I wiggled a finger. "Explain to my homie Phil right here about Operation Athena."
Then, while Phil was going through a moment of epiphany, I stood up from the bed where I was sitting and stared at Royce with a baffled expression. "H...how did you―" I stammered uncomfortably. It would surely take me forever to get accustomed to my feminine voice.
"―complete the Interexchange?" Royce blurted out eagerly. "Oh, my, this is amazing, isn't it? Trust me, this is gonna be the breakthrough of the century, if not of the entire human history itself. You've just made history, Jarod!"
"But how?" I persisted.
Royce smiled enigmatically. "I coin it the 'Spencer's Theory of Commonality'. You see, when two individuals are introduced to the similar foreign consciousness―it doesn't matter how many consciousness there are―their minds are said to be 'in sync'. Hence, with the assistance of an adequate amount of electricity, along with a modified EEG and a whole lot of wires, their minds shall be able to perform the process that we call the Interexchange."
"'The Interexchange'?" I prompted.
"The switching of consciousness between two individuals. In layman terms? Soul-swapping."
I gasped. "So Operation Athena was never about immortality―"
"I never said it was."
"―it was about switching identities."
Royce spread his arms. "Attaboy. You finally got it."
"Right." I bit my lip. "How long until this wears off?"
"'Wears off'?" Royce repeated, coughing in mock surprise. "Oh, no. Which part was I not clear enough?"
"What do you mean?"
"The change is permanent, Jarod―or should I call you Layla now, 'cause, y'know, you don't look very Jarod-ish at the moment." Noticing the vicious stare I was giving him, he stopped in mid-jibe. "The point is, there is no turning back, son. Not even if I wanted to."
Holy crap. A vision of me getting pregnant flashed past my mind's eye. I shuddered inwardly.
Royce chuckled at my horrified expression. "Oh, don't look so morbid! Deep down inside, you know that you've always wanted to be a woman. And no, you shouldn't be denying your mind the pleasures that it craves―"
"So now you're calling me a fucking faggot." I interrupted, my voice deathly calm.
Royce shrugged. "Well, that's one way of putting it―"
I snapped.
Bunching up my (or Layla's; yeah, you get the point) agile calf muscles, I flew at Royce like a panther pouncing after its prey. He tried to duck, of course, but I'd been feigning the attack to his face (I thought it was a pretty awesome strategy, 'cause when a lady comes charging at you, the outcome is usually a slap in the face). Dropping to the ground at the last moment, I swiped my right feet in a wide arc like a lasso (Layla's bod was super-flexible), effectively catching Royce in the ankle.
He didn't stand a chance. Crashing to the ground noisily, he was too busy groaning and cursing as I climbed swiftly onto his back and made sure that he stayed down by jabbing a knee on his left shoulder blade.
Then, I yanked Royce's left arm upwards violently, and kept increasing the pressure until he started shrieking like a little girl.
"AHHH!"
I let my hold on Royce relax for a while. "There must be a way to reverse the process, dammit. No scientist in his sane mind starts an experiment without a backup plan, so tell me, what's your plan B?" I shouted.
Royce, despite having his face forcefully shoved against the floor, managed to scoff. "Well, I guess that makes me one of the insane ones then, for there is no turnaround once you sign up for the Interexchange."
I tried to ignore the tinge of despair that was pricking at my scalp. "I'm not gonna ask again." I hissed, trying to sound tough. "Tell me how to reverse the Interexchange, or else―"
"Hey, kiddo." Phil piped up. "I might have a trick up my sleeve to get him talking."
"What, put a gun to his head?"
"Nah." Phil's wrinkled his lips, as if disgusted by the notion. "That's way too crude. Mine's a little more...subtle."
I shrugged. "Knock yourself out."
As the exchange between Phil and I played out, Royce was sneering away. "Or else what? What are you gonna do, kill me? You and I both know that by doing that, Jarod―your body―will have no one to blame his crimes on. And you know what happens next? He'll have multiple murder charges plus a dozen other miscellaneous crimes slapped in his face. From that point on, there are only two cards left for him: 'Capital Punishment' or 'Life in Prison'. Take your pick."
"You're going way ahead of yourself," Phil (the new DJ) complained. "No, I'm not gonna kill you. I'm just gonna play with your shoulder a little bit."
Then, with a strong, abrupt tug of my arm, I heard a loud 'POP' and the next thing I know, Royce's left arm was an inch longer.
The screaming was terrible. "AHHHHHH!" On and on he went, with his body writhing and struggling beneath me.
I stared at Phil. "You call that 'subtle'?"
"Well, I try." Phil mimicked my shrug. Turning back to Royce, he gave him a jab in the ribs. "Listen carefully, you jackass. Here's what's gonna happen: I'm gonna give you a free relocation of your shoulder, and you're gonna answer the damn question. You understand me?"
Royce blubbered incoherently. Holy crap, was he crying?
"Answer me!" Phil hissed, slamming Royce's head to the ground. Sudden, loud and threatening roars. This is definitely the Phil I know.
"YES!" Royce cried. "Yes, goddammit, yes!"
Satisfied at his answer, Phil gave Royce's arm a deft jerk, and it was dislocated no more. "He's all yours."
"Alright, where were we?" I asked Royce. And before you ask, of course I let him rest his left shoulder. I'm not an animal. This time, I grabbed his right shoulder. "So do you still need me to loosen things up a little bit, or are you gonna tell me the―"
"Torture me all you like." Royce was still sobbing. No, wait a minute. He wasn't sobbing. That bastard was laughing. It was hysterical, body-racking, snot-dripping laugh. "I can never tell you what you want―"
I was already shaking my head. "You gotta do better than tha―"
"―because I don't fucking know!" Royce shouted.
For a few heartbeats, I leaned forward and peered down at his eyes. They were defiant and seemingly indefatigable, but there was a tiny hint of fear in it. When our eyes met, he stared at me with a perfect poker face, his eyes giving nothing away.
Phil was gesticulating at the sink nearby. "Waterboarding?"
I shook my head. "I believe him."
Grabbing a pair of FlexiCuffs from the table next to me, I snapped it onto Royce's wrists and tightened it. "Now sit up," I told him.
"Arresting me?" Royce struggled to get up from the ground. "Can't you see how this would look to the cops? A junior field agent arresting a Special Agent, who also happens to be her superior. Think the cops will buy it?"
I hesitated. He's got a point. I keep forgetting that I'm now the one living rent-free inside Layla's body. The least I could do is to make sure nothing happens to her.
Royce wasn't finished yet. "And when it comes down to it, whose words do you think the Chief Special Agent will believe? Yours, or mine?"
Shit. I should've recorded his confession or somethin―
I never saw that head coming. One moment Royce was kneeling on the ground, with his hands bound behind his back, rambling about politics, and the next, the back of his head was screaming towards my face. I didn't get the chance to duck at all.
He nailed me right in the nose with a dull plonk. Instantly, intense pain shot up to my head, blinding me and frizzling my ability to think. I was left staggering around like Mr. Wobblyman, gazing mindlessly at the constellations that danced before my eyes.
Okay, I know. I shouldn't have hesitated.
Too late though.
As I did my inebriated dance, I was barely aware of Royce wrapping his yet-to-be-bound legs around my neck. I was still wondering "why is there a neck pillow around my neck" when they started squeezing.
The agony was indescribable. As the pressure around my neck intensified, I choked and tried to scream, but nothing other than a piteous strangled (obviously) cry came out of my mouth. My lungs, which were starting to ache from the lack of oxygen, begged me to breathe, but my windpipe was blocked. My eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets. The thought 'punch him in the groin' reverberated throughout my head, but my hands couldn't seem to find the target. All I could do was claw around wildly.
Fuck, man. I'm gonna die. I thought desperately.
Then, there was a dull "BAM!", and the pressure on my neck loosened.
Like a drowning man gasping for breath, I instinctively arched my chest up and took a deep breath, my lungs heaving overtime as I gasped for breath. Slowly, the agonizing and blinding light cleared and relief flooded into my bloodstream.
My bleary eyes came into focus. I let my vision travel around aimlessly for a second, before it finally settled of Royce's limp form.
Sadly, he was collapsed in a heap, but it wasn't because of me giving him a junk punch. The real cause of KO was the bloody gash on his forehead. It wasn't fatal, but it was bleeding like a stuck pig.
Then I saw the figure standing over Royce.
It was me.
Lemme correct that: it was my body. Standing over Royce, with a huge garbage bin in his hands, was Jarod. He was staring too, but not at Royce. He was gaping at me. My body was gaping at me.
This is oh so weird.
I decided to do some ice-breaking.
"You're me," I stated the obvious.
"I'm you," Layla (I think I'm gonna call her that for the meantime) confirmed. She had already broke out of the initial OMG-I'm-literally-seeing-myself-in-real-life trance and was now finishing the job I was supposed be done with three minutes ago―tying up Royce's legs.
"And I'm you." I was still in that trance-like state.
Layla gave me an eye roll. I never knew I (my body) could do such a perfect eye roll. "Can you please shut the hell up and get this over with?"
"Sure." I scrambled off the ground, trying to ignore the wooziness that was yelling at me to sit back down. My nose felt warm and sticky.
"Oh, and you might wanna clean that nose up and check for any out-of-placed bones." Layla reminded. "'Cause if you mess my face up, I'm stayin'."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, wincing as I poked carefully at my bloody nose. Then my blurry brain finally computed the full notion of her words. "Oh, no, you're definitely not stayin'. I want my body back, you transvestite. You called the cops yet?"
"Already did." Layla nodded, her (or his, depending on how you wanna see it) expression unreadable. "I think the real question here is: will the cops believe our version of what happened over his?"
"Well, I guess with the help of an unaffiliated third-party, especially one like you―a victim―the cops will surely buy it." I pointed out. "Plus, when Royce is arrested, we'll have his office at our disposal―we could always show the police what's inside those drawers." Even if there is no such thing as the Oculus in here.
Layla didn't reply. She was gazing sadly at Royce's body. "I still can't believe he did all these. The thought that he's The Duke...it's just...un-fricking-believable."
I blew my nose. Nothing solid came flying out, so I guess that's a sign that the bones in my nose are still intact. Now what I had to deal with was the copious amounts of blood that was caking around the region between my nose and my mouth. It tasted like salt water.
Grabbing a stray test tube by the sink, I filled it with some tap water.
"What are you doing?" Layla asked.
"Me? I'm just taking a deep sip from a very tall glass of 'I told you so'." I poured the water from the test tube onto the caked blood, spluttering and choking as some of the naughty water got into my nose.
"No, what are you really doing―you know what? Stop it, you dimwit." Layla strode over to my side. "Seriously. You never had a nosebleed in your entire life?"
"For the record, yes." I gasped as Layla stuck two pieces of tissues into my nostrils and started dabbing a piece of wet cloth onto the bloody part of my nose. "Off the record, the last time I had it was when I was five, so I don't exactly remember how my mom cleaned up the mess for me."
Layla smirked, amused. "So, guess we're stuck like this forever, huh. You, as Layla, and me, as Jarod."
Her tone was light, but I could hear the uneasiness in it. I shook my head, the best I could with Kleenex sticking out of my nostrils. "I don't think so. There must be a way. We have Professor Leonard―"
"Call me Lenny," Lenny said, reflexively.
"―on our side, and we could always interrogate Royce for any clues and answers that he might be hiding from us. As the old adage goes, 'when there's a will, there's a way', I believe we both do have the will to not become transvestites for life, don't we?"
I thought Layla was gonna give some witty retort, but she merely smiled. "As much as I wanna tell you that that was the cheesiest speech I've ever heard in my life, I hope you're right."
Suddenly, I heard a series of muffled door slamming. "The cops are here. Should we stay like this or..."
Layla gave me a last dab on my nose. "No, no, we're done. I'll just have to grab my―I mean, your ID, give it to you, and we'll be guaranteed a safe passage out of here."
As Layla rummaged through the pile of her clothes which were dumped at a corner, I pulled the Kleenex testily out of my nostrils. No sudden gush of fresh, warm blood? Check.
Yup. My nosebleed is fixed.
"Here you go." Layla handed me a black leather wallet. I flipped it open like a pro. It was a totally legit, CIA ID wallet. I felt badass all of a sudden. "I'll have to brief you a little bit on the formalities and titles, though. You ready?"
"Yeah, 'course." Then I noticed Layla's expression. "What?"
"Damn." Layla was staring at me lasciviously. "I had no idea I looked so hot in a surgery gown. Minus the nosebleed, of course."